


Destiny's Child

by WonkyWarmaiden



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonkyWarmaiden/pseuds/WonkyWarmaiden
Summary: “You’re pregnant.”Jaskier blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”“You’re pregnant,” Yennefer repeats.Destiny has another surprise in store for her favorite Witcher and his bard mate.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 721





	Destiny's Child

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy, first time writing mpreg and A/B/O stuff.
> 
> I might continue this? Maybe??
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy.

“You need to see a healer,” Geralt says from his perch atop Roach.

Jaskier glares at him over his shoulder, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after he finishes emptying his breakfast on the side of the road they’ve been traveling down since morning.

“I told you I’m fine. It’s just a stomach bug, probably picked it up in the last town.”

Geralt gives him a displeased grunt and throws him a waterskin.

“Really, Geralt, you worry too much,” Jaskier says, waving away the alpha’s concern. “It’s nothing, I’m telling you.”

\---

After several more weeks of Jaskier puking at increasingly inopportune times, Geralt finally drags him to Yennefer’s latest lavish estate.

“He keeps throwing up. Fix him,” Geralt demands the second they’re led to Yennefer’s ‘borrowed’ sitting room by one of the enchanted maids.

Affronted, Jaskier puts his hands on his hips and angrily says, “I’m not broken, Geralt!”

“And I am not your personal healer, Witcher,” Yennefer drawls. “Humans are weak, they get sick. That’s what they do.”

“Thank you, that’s really helping,” Jaskier says with a glower.

Yennefer shrugs at him. “Well it’s true.”

“Yenn…”

She lets out a gusty sigh and stands from her chair, “Fine. Lay him down there.” Yennefer points to the the chaise lounge off to the side.

“He has a name, thank you,” Jaskier grumps. “And he will not be manhandled into- Geralt! Put me down this instant!”

“This for your own good, bard,” Geralt says, dodging the elbow Jaskier aims at his head.

“You’re just mad I almost threw up on Roach!”

Geralt noticeably doesn’t deny it as he carefully sets Jaskier down onto the chaise. The omega crosses his arms and glares at the the Witcher towering over him but stays where he is.

Honestly, Jaskier’s just as worried Geralt, he knows throwing up for weeks on end isn’t normal, but it’s the principle of the thing. It annoys him to be treated like he can’t look after himself, like he’s just another helpless omega, especially by one of the strongest alphas he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“Alright, your looming isn’t helping, Geralt,” Yennefer says as she crouches on her knees beside the chaise. She flaps her hand at the Witcher. “Go on, this won’t take long. Ciri should be around here somewhere, I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance for some sword practice.”

Geralt’s worried expression softens at the mention of the princess but he still seems reluctant to leave.

Jaskier sighs fondly and twines their fingers together for a brief moment. “Go on, love. I’ll come find you when we’re done,” he promises.

With a squeeze of his fingers, Geralt nods and heads to the door.

Yennefer pulls Jaskier’s violet doublet open, revealing the silk chemise beneath. “Now, I know this will be hard for you, bard, but I need you to stay quiet,” she says before her hands start to pulse with magic.

Jaskier nearly says something in retaliation but snaps his mouth shut when Yennefer gives him a sharp look.

He lays there for ten minutes, tapping a song nervously with his fingers against the side of the chaise, trying to ignore the rather concerning wrinkle slowly forming on Yennefer’s usually smooth brow.

“That, no, that can’t be right,” she mutters to herself, magic fading.

“Oh gods, I’m dying aren’t I?” Jaskier bursts out, possibly a bit dramatically.

He prays that Geralt is out of earshot.

“Shh,” Yennefer admonishes. “Let me look again.”

The next ten minutes tick slowly by. Finally Yennefer sits back on her heels and stares, open mouthed, at Jaskier.

The omega sits up warily. “Yennefer, normally I like seeing you at a loss for words but now really isn’t the time, my dear.” When she doesn’t respond immediately he gets even more worried. “Yenn, please, I’m not actually dying am I?”

The sorceress finally manages to shake herself back to the present. “No, Jaskier, you aren’t dying.”

Jaskier collapses back against the chaise. “Oh, thank the gods,” he breathes out in relief. “Then what has you so flummoxed?”

Yennefer places a careful hand on his stomach and looks him in the eye.

“You’re pregnant.”

Jaskier blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re pregnant,” Yennefer repeats.

“How- how can that be?” Jaskiers asks, voice catching in his throat. ”There hasn’t been anyone except Geralt. For years. We talked, he said children weren’t possible. Witchers can’t- he can’t. Oh gods, what if he doesn’t want it? Yenn, I can’t lose him again-”

“Jaskier, you need to breathe.”

Yennefer’s right but Jaskier can’t get his lungs to cooperate. It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on his chest. He vaguely aware of Yennefer’s arms wrapping around him and pulling him into a loose hug.

“It’s alright. This will pass,” she whispers to him as he gasps into her shoulder.

\---

Geralt freezes suddenly and Ciri lands the hit she was expecting him to block.

The sound of her practice sword cracking against his jaw is loud. The princess winces and rushes to apologize, “Sorry, sorry!”

Without comment, Geralt drops his own practice sword and sprints back towards the manor.

Ciri rushes to catch up with him. “What’s going on?” she asks.

“Something’s wrong,” he grunts. He can feel it through his and Jaskier’s bond; an out of tune twang, like a lute string snapping.

Once they’re inside Geralt instantly picks up the scent of tears and fear. Jaskier’s fear. He growls and stalks down the halls, back to where he left his mate. He slams through the doors to find Yennefer holding Jaskier as the bard gasps in her arms.

“What the fuck happened, Yenn!?” he snarls, darting forward and pulling his mate from the other omega’s embrace.

“Calm down, Geralt,” Yennefer says as she lets go of Jaskier. “He’s having a panic attack, yelling isn’t going to help anything.”

“Is Jaskier alright?” Ciri asks, hovering in the doorway worriedly.

Yennefer stands from the floor. “Yes, sweetheart,” she says reassuringly as she steps over to place a comforting palm on the girl’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”

Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest until he hears the bard’s breathing return to normal, then to a slower pattern, indicating that Jaskier has fallen asleep.

“What the fuck happened, Yenn?” he asks again, quieter this time.

“I’ll leave that revelation to Jaskier,” Yennefer says simply. “I’ll show you to a bedroom.”

\---

Jaskier wakes up alone on the softest mattress he’s ever felt. He wonders idly if Geralt would let him strap it to Roach when they finally leave this place. Better than a bedroll any day. Through the high windows to his left Jaskier can see that night has fallen, the sky bruised purple and black by the setting sun. A quick scan of the room shows no sign of Geralt, but his swords are leaning against the dresser by the door and that loosens something in Jaskier’s chest.

Cupping a hand over his stomach, Jaskier sits up.

“Hello, little one,” he whispers to the child inside of him.

It’s silly, he knows, to get attached so early. Omega males are known to miscarry often and there’s still the unknown of whether or not Geralt will…

Will want to keep it.

Part of Jaskier, the feral part, roars at the thought of getting rid of it. Of this little thing that might have Geralt’s nose, or his smile, or his chin. The saner part of him knows Geralt can’t be forced to accept this child, whether Jaskier wants him to or not.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the door open.

“You’re awake.”

Jaskier jumps at Geralt’s voice.

Removing his hand from his belly Jaskier smiles up at his mate. “Ha. Seems I am. Sorry about that.”

Geralt sits at the foot of the bed and turns to him with a concerned look. “Jaskier, what happened? Yenn wouldn’t tell me.”

Jaskier sends a silent thanks to the sorceress. “She found out what’s been making me sick.”

“And? What is it?” Geralt asks, brow furrowing as he slides closer.

Jaskier reaches out and grasps one of Geralt’s battle-worn hands in both of his and presses it against his stomach.

“I’m pregnant, Geralt,” he says and lets it hang in the air.

The Witcher stares at him, gold eyes wide and unblinking. Jaskier wants to fidget under the scrutiny but he forces himself to meet his mate’s eyes. Then, painfully, Geralt pulls away from him. He turns his gaze away from Jaskier.

“You let another alpha fuck a pup into you,” Geralt states in a resigned monotone.

The words sting like a slap to the face.

“What? No. It’s yours, you godsdamned idiot,” Jaskier replies angrily. How could Geralt ever think such a thing of him?

“No it fucking isn’t,” Geralt snarls, standing from the bed. “You know it can’t be.” He still won’t look at Jaskier.

“Geralt, I swear, it’s yours. I don’t know how but it is,” Jaskier pleads, getting to his knees on the bed so he can wrap his arms around Geralt's shoulders. He bumps his forehead against Geralt’s tense back, silently begging the alpha to believe him. “No one else’s. Yours, only yours.”

“Then it’s a monster,” Geralt growls. “And you should rid yourself of it.”

With that he twists out of Jaskier’s grip and leaves, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

When Jaskier dares to look, the swords are gone from beside the door.

He collapses back to the soft mattress.

\---

“You’re a fool, Geralt of Rivia.”

“Leave it, Yenn,” he growls and continues preparing Roach for travel.

“No, I don't think I will. You already tried to run from Ciri and you see where that got you-”

“This is different.”

“Is it? Destiny’s hand is in this just as much as it was with your Child Surprise.”

Geralt lets out an unamused huff. “I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Well, she obviously believes in you,” Yenn says. “Gods knows why.”

“It’s impossible.”

“And yet…”

Here we are.

Geralt grits his teeth and hoists himself up onto Roach.

“Will you look after him?” he asks.

“That’s your job. Or have you forgotten?” Yennefer replies pointedly.

Geralt ignores the sting of her words as he angles Roach towards the road that leads away from the manor and out into the world.

He finds contract after contract to keep himself busy and too preoccupied with not dying to think about the omega he left behind. His alpha instincts scream at him, even in the middle of battle, telling him that Jaskier is pregnant and he should be there; protecting the bard and their unborn child.

Even his biology is calling him a fool but Geralt blocks it all out and focuses on the Path.

Geralt shakes waterlogged hair out of his eyes irritably as he trudges through the knee high swamp until he finally reaches the bank of dry land. With a grunt he hoists the head of the Kikimora up onto the grass before pulling himself out of the bog as well. He longs for the hot bath he knows is waiting for him back at the inn he’s staying at but he still needs to get the proof that he killed the Kikimora to the lord who ordered the creature’s death.

He whistles for Roach and the mare comes trotting up a few seconds later, allowing him to wrap the head in a sack and attach it to her side without much more than a put upon nicker.

The lord lives on the outskirts of town in a slightly rundown manor. The guards nod Geralt through the front gate and he nudges Roach past them and into the well-kept courtyard. He hops down and unhooks the satchel with the Kikimora head inside.

He’s let inside by another guard posted at the front door and when he steps inside he’s greeted by the lady of the house.

“Ah, is that our little beasty?” she asks with a smile full of crooked teeth, eyes trained on the sack held in Geralt’s fist.

With a grunt Geralt opens the bag to show her the head of the Kikimora.

When he pulls the burlap back he’s met with the sight of a screaming, half-formed infant, looking up at him with familiar yellow eyes as it wails; separated far too soon from its mother to survive. 

“It’s better this way,” the lady says but it’s Visenna standing there when he looks up. She reaches out and cradles the baby to her chest. “We aren’t meant for this, are we, Geralt? Perhaps Vesemir will take this one as well.”

She turns to walk away and Geralt lurches forward with a bellowed shout of, “No!”

Geralt ends up slamming face-first into the wood floor of his inn room, limbs trapped in the sheets from all his tossing and turning throughout the night.

“Fuck,” he says, muffled by the floor.

He decides to stop running.

\---

Jaskier hasn’t seen Geralt in two months, since that fool of a Witcher stormed out of their bedroom, yet now here the man sits in the same crowded tavern Jaskier finds himself performing in. He’s staring at Jaskier over his mug of ale. Or more accurately, he’s staring at Jaskier’s pregnant stomach, which has finally started to show under his open doublet and thin undershirt.

Summer is finally upon them and Jaskier feels sweat trickling down his temple as he finishes his song and collects his coin; he wishes he could grab a nice cold ale but he isn’t only thinking about his own health anymore, so he ignores Geralt brooding in the corner and steps out into the night air to head back to the inn.

On the way there a hand grabs his arm roughly, yanks him into a nearby dark alley and spins him around to face a clearly inebriated alpha.

“What’s a pretty omega like you doing all alone?” the man slurs and puts his grubby hands on Jaskier’s hips, trapping him against the wall at his back. “And with pup too, so sweet.”

“Kindly fuck off,” Jaskier snarls and with a push sends the alpha toppling over a barrel behind him.

Jaskier turns with a disgusted shake of his head, only to find three more alphas bearing down on him from the mouth of the alley. Jaskier manages to break the nose of the first one that reaches him but the next two grab his arms and slam him up against the alley wall. The alpha Jaskier pushed away rights himself and all four swarm him.

“Never fucked a pregnant omega before,” the drunk alpha says with revolting grin, pawing at the tie of Jaskier’s trousers.

A silent blur of black and silver drops down behind the four men and Jaskier laughs.

“And you never will,” he says gleefully.

And with that, Geralt lops all four of their heads off with a single swing of his steel sword.

Jaskier feels slick run down his thigh at the show of strength.

The headless bodies collapse to the muddy ground with a squelch.

“Geralt,” he says in greeting.

“Jaskier.”

“Two months.”

“I know.”

“Get over here,” Jaskier commands.

Geralt obeys.

Jaskier isn’t sure how they get back to his room at the inn. All he knows is that he shoves Geralt until the alpha is flat on his back on the lumpy mattress and rides that majestic cock until he’s crying out and coming all over Geralt’s calloused hand as his Witcher thrusts his knot inside, locking them together.

Jaskier collapses down onto Geralt’s sweaty chest with a sated sigh. 

“Finally done with running away, hm?” he asks conversationally, face smushed against a muscled pec.

Geralt hums and Jaskier curls his fist loosely in the chain of the wolf pendant around his mate’s neck.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be enough this time, love.”

“Yes, I’m done,” Geralt says, running his hand up and down Jaskier’s back. “I won’t leave you again.”

At that, Jaskier releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding and relaxes wholly against Geralt.

“Good.”

They lay there until Geralt slips out of him and rolls them both onto their sides, Geralt spooning up behind Jaskier and putting one cautious palm on the omega’s pregnant belly.

“You kept it.”

There’s no judgement one way or the other in Geralt’s tone as he speaks. Inscrutable bastard.

Jaskier wants to fidget but catches himself.

“Yup,” he tries to answer casually.

“Why?”

That has Jaskier rolling his eyes and turning to face Geralt. The witcher’s eyes are trained somewhere over Jaskier’s shoulder so the bard grabs his chiseled jaw and forces Geralt to meet his gaze.

“Because it’s part you,” Jaskier says simply.

Geralt’s eyes trail away again. “Part mutant, you mean,” he mutters.

“And it’s part me,” Jaskier continues, ignoring Geralt’s self-loathing for the moment. “It’s us, love. How could I get rid of something like that?”

“What if it has my eyes?” Geralt asks.

It’s said so softly Jaskier almost misses it. His heart twists in his chest at the fear and shame he hears in his mate’s voice. He hugs Geralt closer to him with a sigh.

“Then there’s no helping it, we’ll be beating away his or her would-be paramours for the rest of our days.”

He feels Geralt let out a small amused huff and it makes a smile tug at Jaskier’s lips.

“That’s another thing. Our child is going to be unfairly attractive, you know, and who are we to deny the continent such beauty?” Jaskier reasons.

“Think it’ll be as furry as you?” Geralt asks, running a hand through the hair on Jaskier’s chest.

“Shut up, you love it.”

Geralt makes a low noise of agreement as he leans down to nip playfully at Jaskier’s nipple.

“Careful, dear Witcher,” Jaskier warns, arching under the alpha. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

With a pleased hum, Geralt trails kisses over Jaskier distended belly and moves lower, nosing at the dark curls that surround the omega’s half-hard cock. 

The bard sighs happily as he curls his fingers in Geralt’s hair and enjoys the return of his mate.


End file.
